The Road to Rivendell
by elmo1695
Summary: Basically my take on what would have happened after Frodo's stabbing at Weathertop if Sam, Merry and Pippin were not travelling with him and he had not previously met Aragorn. I don't know, I thought it was a good idea.
1. The Ranger and the Hobbit

_Okay guys. This is my very first fanfiction, so don't judge me too hard, haha.  
I'm going to say this is an ongoing series, but I guess it depends on whether it gets readers and positive reviews.  
Also, I'm in year 12 so updates may not be as regular as I would like. I'm going to aim for every weekend at least._

_**Disclaimer: Any and all of the characters referenced in this fanfiction remain the property of J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

**Chapter One: The Ranger and the Hobbit**

The ranger whipped his head around and supressed a shudder as the Ringwraiths' bloodcurdling shriek rent the night air. Using the dull light cast by the flaming torch he carried, he was able to make out a shrouded group of Nazgûl heading towards Amon Sûl. He loosened his sword in the scabbard as he quietly stole after them. Being on foot, the ranger fell far behind the mad galloping of the Nazgûl horses, but still he pursued them.

_Oh no._ His heart sank as he realised the Hobbit that Gandalf had asked him to track down was in the area and now in very grave danger. Even as he had this horrifying thought, an agonised screech pierced the night. Frantic, the ranger, who had finally reached the base of the hill, took the stairs to the ruins two at a time.

There were five of them, all crowded around the obvious leader, who was seemingly stabbing at thin air with a long knife. _Fool! The Hobbit must have put the Ring on!_ The ranger concluded with rapidly declining hope for the Hobbit's wellbeing.

Wasting no more precious time, the ranger drew his sword and stormed the group of Ringwraiths with sword and flaming torch in hand. The Nazgûl immediately scattered; the leader withdrawing the knife and letting it drop to the ground. The ranger clashed swords with all five Ringwraiths repelling them with his burning torch. He set their black robes alight and drove them away. He scouted the area for any more possible threats before making his way back to the Hobbit, who had reappeared, moaning in pain.

This was clearly the Hobbit that Gandalf had him searching for. He fit the wizard's description perfectly. Pale complexion and slightly taller than the typical Hobbit, with deep brown curls and deep blue eyes that were now dull and clouded over with pain.

Frodo let out a cry of agony as an unfamiliar man approached and crouched down in front of him. His left shoulder was cold and numb, yet still burned with violent ferocity. He felt as if he was being frozen and reheated continuously. He could not keep himself from shaking violently from the icy coldness. He tried to focus his waning attention on the man – one of the Big Folk – he noticed, as he started to speak.  
"Frodo, I am called Strider. I am a friend of Gandalf the Grey. He asked me to find you and bring you to Rivendell".  
The only reply Frodo offered was a gasp of pain and his agonised whisper; "help me".

Immediately, Strider scanned the ground and found a long knife beside Frodo. He picked it up and examined it. His heart plummeted as the blade melted, leaving only the hilt in Strider's hand. The weapon used to wound the Hobbit laying in front of him was a Morgul Knife. Strider frantically glanced over Frodo in search of any injuries, concern flaring in his grey eyes. His gaze happened upon a tear in Frodo's tunic at the left shoulder and he hesitantly undid a few buttons and drew the fabric away from the shoulder to expose an ugly stab wound. Frodo let out a moan as the wound in his shoulder was exposed to the night air. He tried to push Strider's prying hands away from his shoulder, but the ranger gently stilled his movements and continued to inspect the wound with a grave face.

"Frodo, listen to me. The knife used to wound your shoulder is called a Morgul Blade. The hurts caused by this particular weapon are beyond my skill to heal. Only Lord Elrond of Rivendell has the know-how to treat such an infliction".

Without another word, Strider gently lifted the Hobbit off the ground and slung him over his shoulder. The sudden movement caused Frodo to screech in pain as his shoulder was jolted. And then Strider was bearing him away into the night.

**TBC ~**

_So yeah, that's the first chapter. I know it's a bit short, but this is only my first fanfiction so I'm still getting the hang of things. I'm hoping to get chapter two up by next weekend._

_Sorry the fight scene between Aragorn and the Ringwraiths isn't really detailed. For the life of me I couldn't find a suitable way to describe it. _

_Hope you guys liked, and if you have any advice or just anything you'd like to comment on, feel free to review.  
Constructive criticism welcome! :3_


	2. Anxiety and Despair

_Woo! Chapter two is up! Sorry for the delay. I've been suffering from massive writer's block and my amount of homework is borderline infinite. This chapter is thankfully a bit lengthier than the first. Enjoy! Thanks to the new followers and reviewers!_

_**Disclaimer: Any and all of the characters referenced in this fanfiction remain the property of J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

**Chapter Two: Anxiety and Despair**

Frodo moaned pitifully over Strider's shoulder as the movement of Strider's fast pace inadvertently jolted his wounded shoulder. Strider's arm tightened around him in a gentle gesture of reassurance. He kept Frodo steady over his shoulder with one arm, holding a burning torch ahead to light the way with the other. As he ran, desperate to escape the Nine Riders, whose chilling cries could still be heard in the area, Strider allowed himself a brief moment of despair. It was imperative to get the ailing Hobbit to Rivendell, but with a wound as grievous as his, it was highly unlikely that he would make it through the journey. On foot, Rivendell was still another six days away. Frodo would be lucky to survive the next two nights before the poison infused in the Morgul wound reached his heart and he passed into shadow, forced into eternal slavery and torment at the hands of the Dark Lord Sauron. And of course, the poison in Frodo's system caused unimaginable agony and suffering, with no release save the rare escape into unconsciousness. Already Strider could feel how rapidly the Hobbit's body was cooling down, stripped of his natural body heat.

Deep in the crevices of his weakening mind, Frodo was mentally reprimanding himself. He knew what a potentially dangerous situation he was in. He didn't really know who this "Strider" was. He claimed to be a friend of Gandalf, but whether or not this was true, Frodo had no way of knowing. But then, he also reasoned that he really didn't have a choice but to let this ranger help him. He needed medicine desperately, and this man was his only hope. His shoulder burned with an inconceivable cold that was slowly rendering his arm and hand numb and useless. His face was buried into Strider's back, the slightly musty smell of his travel stained cloak filling his nose. Again, he berated himself for foolishly putting the Ring on. He let out another weak moan as Strider's motion, again, unintentionally jarred shoulder. He wrestled feebly as the fit of pain took over his body.  
"Hold on, Frodo," Strider murmured soothingly, without breaking pace. Frodo's breath hitched before he gave a cry.  
"Gandalf!" he moaned. Strider repositioned him slightly in an attempt to alleviate his pain. Nevertheless, Frodo's agony continued. _How long can he possibly go on like this? _Strider thought desperately.

It was deep into the night before Strider was forced to stop and take time to rest. By that time, Frodo was quaking from the cold. He set the flaming torch aside and, one handed; Strider removed his cloak and spread it out on the ground. Satisfied, he gently lowered Frodo down to lie atop it pulling the hood of the Hobbit's own cloak up to cover his head. Noting Frodo's persistent shaking, he searched through his pack and wrapped him in every blanket he had on him. Still not convinced Frodo was as warm as possible; Strider stripped off his own coat and laid it over him, then set about making a small fire.

Once the fire was crackling softly, casting a warm glow about the makeshift campsite, Strider consumed a hurried meal of toasted bread and dried fruit and drank generously from his water skin. He sighed inwardly as he realised that, ill or not, the Hobbit had to eat, and he moved to Frodo's side. He set his coat aside and removed the wad of blankets around Frodo. He gently raised him from the ground and slid behind him, leaning up against the trunk of a large tree. He settled Frodo against his strong chest. Strider winced as he immediately noticed the deathly cold emanating from the Hobbit's body. He lifted the water skin to Frodo's mouth only to have him sharply jerk his head back. Strider paused briefly before pressing the water skin back to his lips, with a firm but gentle grip, enticing him to take slow sips. Hesitantly, Frodo complied.

When Strider had given Frodo as much water as he would take, he held a portion of stale bread to his mouth. He sighed with relief as Frodo chewed slowly on the crusty bread. He persisted with the bread for fifteen minutes when Frodo finally finished. Strider had not the heart to force him to consume any more. He lowered the Hobbit back to the ground, rewrapping him in the mound of blankets and his large coat. He then allowed himself a short break, taking small, infrequent sips from his water skin, slowly rehydrating his parched body. After only thirty minutes of rest, Strider deemed it time to start off again. He packed up the supplies, stuffed Frodo's blankets back in his pack and slipped his coat back on. Content that he had obliterated all evidence of his makeshift camp, Strider gently lifted Frodo off the ground, settled him over his shoulder and stuffed the cloak he was laying upon in his pack. He then set off at a jog, again holding the burning torch, bearing Frodo ever closer to Rivendell.

**TBC ~**

_Woo! Another chapter finished. This story doesn't really seem to be doing well so far. I'll give it a bit longer to pick up._

_I know there's this decision to make about whether to go with the book and bring Glorfindel in, or go with the movie and bring Arwen in. But I'm thinking about mixing it up a bit and maybe bringing Gandalf in instead. I'm not sure how it's going to work but I'll figure something out._

_I won't be home for much of the weekend, so I may not get the next chapter up until next weekend._

_Please review if you could! Thank-you!_


	3. Healing Plants and Old Friends

_Sorry for the delay folks. I've been unwell for a couple of weeks and haven't been able to drag myself to the computer. But anyway, here is chapter three!_

_**Disclaimer: Any and all of the characters referenced in this fanfiction remain the property of J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

**Chapter Three: Healing Plants and Old Friends**

It was just before dawn broke that Strider stopped again. Frodo's pained cries had receded into wheezy gasps and occasional moans that only pained him further, and he hadn't spoken a word since his agonised cries for Gandalf many hours ago. It was with great reluctance that Strider, again, set him down to rest, lying on his large cloak underneath the statues of three stone trolls. But he really didn't have a choice. The ailing Hobbit needed treatment immediately and, although Strider could not offer him the Elven healing he so desperately needed, he could at least attempt to slow the poison penetrating his mind.

But to do even that he needed Athelas. Frodo gasped as another spasm of pain rocked his small body. After lighting a small fire to provide him with a little warmth, and draping a blanket over his shaking body, Strider scanned the immediate surroundings for the plant. His keen eyes spotted a close by undergrowth and, with a quick glance at the Hobbit; he took up his flaming torch and headed for it, going in search of the healing plant He prayed that he would not have to stray too far, so as to keep a watchful eye on his ill charge.

While Strider searched the undergrowth, a war waged within him. He was aware of how unlikely it was that he would get Frodo to Rivendell on time. The Hobbit was fading fast, and the Elven Haven still lay many days ahead of them. But he could not allow the alternative to happen either. No, he would kill Frodo himself before allowing that to happen. For the poison infused in the Morgul Knife was never intended to kill. No, it targeted the victim's mind, soul and spirit. Should the poison stay in the body for too long, the victim would become a wraith, doomed to an eternity of slavery and torment at the hands of Sauron. And the Hobbit would be tormented for ever thinking that he could keep the Ring from its master. Yes, it would be far more merciful to kill Frodo before that happened and spare him from an eternity of that. _But if it comes to that, will I have the strength to do it? _Strider pondered.

A low moan from the camp tore Strider out of his morbid thoughts and his eyes darted over to where Frodo lay, shaking by the fire. He returned to his search for the plant, the Hobbit's moan reminding him of how gravely ill he was and how desperately he needed this treatment, even if it only slowed the process and brought him a little more time. With a sigh, Strider realised that he would have to venture further to find the Athelas, which meant temporarily leaving Frodo unguarded. _Well, it's not like the Nazgûl are going to return any time soon. They have no need to. Not now anyway. They have done their job. Now all they need to do is wait. _He shook himself to rid his mind of the thought.

As he ventured further into the undergrowth, Strider was rewarded with a greater variety of plants. He recognised some as everyday healing herbs, and even some that often thrive around Athelas. His hopes rose. He scanned the vicinity eagerly. _There! _His eyes found a small patch of the plant and he knelt down to inspect it. Satisfied that it was in good condition, he pulled a small hunting knife out of a concealed sheath and began to collect the plant. Ideally, he would like to crush the leaves in boiling water and cleanse Frodo's wound, but in his heart he knew he had not that luxury. He would have to find another way.

When he had uprooted the healing plant, Strider tucked it away in his pouch and began to make his way back to the camp where Frodo lay. As he drew closer, he again heard the tormented gasps and moans emanating from the Hobbit's mouth. And then he heard a different sound. He heard Frodo cry out in anguish, as if something or someone was pulling at his shoulder. Icy terror gripping his heart, fearing the worst, Strider sprinted from the underbrush to the makeshift camp.

He let out a shout of warning as he returned to the camp and, horrified, saw a tall figure leaning over the vulnerable form of the Hobbit. The figure rose and slowly turned around to face him. Strider's hand flew to the hilt of his sword, and he prepared his body for the oncoming battle, every fibre of his being screaming at him to protect Frodo at all costs.

"…Gandalf?!"

**TBC ~**

_Third chapter is finished! I truly am sorry for the delay. I'm really trying to get these chapters up on time. But between school and homework, it has been a little difficult. But I'm going to aim to get the fourth chapter up by maybe next weekend._

_Please review! _


	4. Fear of the Unknowing

_Woo! Here is chapter four for you guys! Now, this chapter is only a short one because it's basically just a retelling of the previous chapter but from Frodo's point of view. Judging by the amount of follows/favourites/reviews I know there probably aren't a lot of people actually following this story, but to those who are, thanks for your support and patience. I know I haven't been as frequent uploading as I could be, I've been finding it a lot more difficult than I thought! But your support is the reason I'm continuing to write this fanfic anyway!_

_**Disclaimer: Any and all of the characters referenced in this fanfiction remain the property of J.R.R. Tolkien.**_

**Chapter Four: Fear of the Unknowing**

Agony. It assailed every inch of his body, every inch of his mind, spirit and soul. He feared that the Eye was watching him every second and felt that black shapes were advancing to smother him. His head hung limply as Strider lowered him gently to the ground, shielded from direct contact by the ranger's large cloak. He whimpered feebly as he suddenly lost the ranger's body heat, the numb, icy cold more prominent than ever. He shrunk into the cloak as much as possible, relishing in Strider's remaining body heat. Another spasm of pain assaulted his body, and he gasped, too weak to utter a cry.

Vaguely, he was aware of Strider crouching next to him, and then, a small fire sparked to life, nothing but a dim light to Frodo's eyes. A blanket was draped over him, and then Strider was gone. Off into the nearby undergrowth for some reason unknown to the Hobbit. _Is he coming back? Surely he's not leaving me here for the Black Riders? He wouldn't do that. He's taking care of me. He's trying to get me to Rivendell. Isn't he? _These were all questions that Frodo simply could not answer. Fear bubbled within him. _What is happening to me?_

He thought he heard the clip of horse hooves and he gasped, fearing the return of the Black Riders. He desperately tried to lift his head, but fell back with a slight moan. Terror seized every inch of his body as the sound of hooves vanished, only to be replaced by the sounds of dismounting. And then a tall figure was standing, towering over him, obscuring his already shadowed vision. The figure descended, crouching over him and pressing a gentle hand to his forehead. Frodo closed his eyes and let out a pitiful moan. His vision cleared momentarily, and he saw, his heart leaping with renewed hope despite the torment his body was undergoing, that the newcomer was Gandalf.

Gandalf paused, concern flaring in his eyes. He tenderly brushed a loose curl out of Frodo's eyes, and searched the Hobbit for the hurt his pain was issuing from. He immediately noticed that the top buttons of Frodo's tunic were undone and there was a tear in the shoulder of it. He gently peeled the garment back, exposing the cursed wound. The wizard blanched. He would recognise that wound anywhere. He gently caressed the hurt, eliciting an anguished cry from the stricken Hobbit.

Following Frodo's outcry, there was the sound of rushed feet and a warning cry as Strider burst back into the clearing. Slowly, Gandalf rose from his crouch and stood upright, turning to face the newcomer behind him.

"…Gandalf?!"

"Aragorn," Gandalf sighed in relief.

**TBC ~**

_I apologise for how short this chapter is, but there is only so much you can say in a retelling of a previous chapter from the perspective of an ailing Hobbit. I promise the next chapter will be more substantial, and I'm aiming to get it ready and uploaded by next weekend!_

_Please review if you can!_


	5. Easing the Pain

_Chapter five is up! I'm so sorry for the month long delay! I just got a new laptop, so I've been busy setting up and getting the feel of it. And I've been away too! Anyway, here goes..._

_**Disclaimer: Any and all of the characters referenced in this fanfiction remain the property of J.R.R Tolkien. **_

**Chapter Five: Easing the Pain**

Strider heaved a deep sigh of relief at the sight of the old wizard and the horse standing by, sheathed his sword and drew up beside his friend, crouching over Frodo's quaking body. He withdrew the Athelas leaves from his pouch and glanced up at Gandalf.

"Can you help him?"

"Regrettably no. Only Lord Elrond can help him now. And although he may be able to physically heal him, this is an ailment that he will carry for the rest of his life. But the Athelas will help him a little." Gandalf murmured, eyes fixed on the Hobbit's pained face. Strider lowered his gaze back to Frodo. He peeled the blanket back and pulled the shoulder of Frodo's tunic aside, exposing his wounded shoulder to the crisp night air. Frodo whimpered and Strider shushed him gently, laying a large hand on his cold forehead. Beside him, Gandalf knelt at his side.

Strider stripped a leaf from the healing plant and placed it into his mouth, chewing on it to release the fluids within, and he applied the now pasty leaf to Frodo's shoulder. The Hobbit emitted an agonised moan as the paste was pressed into his shoulder, and he gasped desperately for air. Despite this, Strider continued to apply the plant to his wound. When it became apparent that Frodo could bear no more torment, he sighed and packed the leaves back into his pouch.

"We can wait no longer Aragorn. He is not going to last. We must get him to Rivendell immediately." Gandalf uttered, his tone laced with urgency. Strider met his eyes briefly, gave a short nod, scooped the Hobbit easily into a gentle cradle and swiftly carried him over to Gandalf's chestnut brown horse, mounting him gingerly onto the steed's back. Frodo whimpered feebly. Strider laid his hand firmly on his back, preventing the swaying Hobbit from toppling from the saddle. Gandalf appeared at Strider's side.

"Aragorn, take him to Rivendell. I will follow as swiftly as I am able. Once you get him across the river, he will be under Elrond's protection. Be mindful that there are at least five Wraiths on your trail. Ride hard, and don't look back."

Strider gave him a nod and mounted the horse behind Frodo, one hand gripping the reins, the other slipping around the Hobbit, securing him firmly in place. Without another word, he spurred the horse forward, leaving Gandalf staring anxiously at the departing travellers, murmuring gentle words of comfort to Frodo when the animal's gait caused him to whine in anguish.

Night gave way to day and the morning sun beat down, but still Strider rode, with the fading Hobbit in front of him. The only indication that Frodo was still conscious was the occasional agonised gasp for air and the restless twitching. Strider rode hard throughout the day, only stopping to replenish the horse. If he maintained this pace he would reach the Elven Haven by midday the following day.

Night was falling when Strider at last stopped. He dismounted the horse, stretching his aching muscles, and gently lifted Frodo off the horse, settling him against his chest. It seemed that the Hobbit had finally fallen into a fitful sleep and Strider placed him gently upon the ground, so as not to disturb him, and laid his thick cloak over him. He started a small fire to provide his ill charge with a little more warmth, and lowered himself to sit beside the Hobbit so he could keep a close eye on his patient through the night.

Frodo had been sleeping restlessly into the early hours of the morning when Strider sensed movement and turned his attention to the Hobbit. Sleep had vanished from his eyes, which were now screwed shut as he experienced wave upon wave of unimaginable pain. His body convulsed as the pain assaulted his small body, and he gasped and moaned, clutching at Strider's cloak, seeking release from his torment, but being unable to escape into the bliss of unconsciousness.

**TBC ~**

_I know this chapter is a bit short, but I'm on holidays now, so hopefully the next chapter will be a little bit lengthier. Sorry again for how long it took for me to update. Next update should be mid to late next week._

_Please review! :)_


End file.
